


Cloak & Dagger Intimates

by SonyaBlackmane



Series: Cloak & Dagger [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BDSM, Blackwall Smut, Blackwall Spoilers, Canon Relationships, Dom/sub Play, Drama & Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light BDSM, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-06-06 16:59:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6762433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonyaBlackmane/pseuds/SonyaBlackmane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>11-06-17 Update: THIS WORK IS ON TEMPORARY HIATUS! WILL BE BACK SOON!</p><p>Series of prompts suggested by a friend (thank you and love you Kosho) that follow and expand on the Cloak & Dagger story. Some chapters may take place at various times throughout the story, some may or may not take place before or after. Not sure yet. Each prompt will be mentioned in chapter summary, so let's see how this goes. Enjoy.</p><p>~Sonya the Author</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Such a Simple Thing

**Author's Note:**

> (Prompt: Holding Hands
> 
> Ophelia and Blackwall share a simple and sweet moment sometime shortly after the Warden arrives at Haven.)

 

     The Breach was there. Up close and personal. It was easier to ignore when it was far away and nothing more than rumors spreading throughout the Hinterlands, and smaller rifts that appeared to terrorize the villagers. But there at Haven, Blackwall couldn't ignore it.

     Or ignore the pesky thoughts on his mind. Thoughts about the 'Herald of Andraste'.

     Ophelia Trevelyan. Beautiful woman. Strong, talented with a blade, and from good stock...oh what the bloody hell was wrong with him? He was sizing her up like she was cattle. What did it matter anyway? It wasn't like she was interested...at least, he assumed she wasn't. She seemed to ignore the attraction between them well enough, of course, she also had other things to worry about.

     Like the fact that she had a mark on her hand that could dispell rifts. And rumor around Haven was that she was thought to be the culprit behind the Conclave at first, and with that thought in mind, he could understand why she sought to question him about the Wardens. She meant to clear her name. Rumor was she had no memory of what happened at the Temple. She wanted to piece it all together, sort out the mess, same as everyone else. It was admirable.

     He leaned against a stone block by the blacksmiths station. He hated being near the village. He didn't know why. It wasn't like anyone there knew, or had any guess who he was...though people saw he was a Warden. And not everyone liked Wardens. Though most those days were content in knowing that they served a purpose, and a good one, beating back darkspawn when they rose up, there were those that were frightened of them because of it. Because of the taint by the blight. That much he guessed.

      Ophelia wasn't afraid of him. Or suspicious. Not after what happened when they met. She seemed grateful for his quick wit with his shield. Keeping an arrow from hitting her pretty face. And now she stood by the forge, speaking to Herrit, the blacksmith, about the repairs made to her armor. She nodded, thanking him, then walked out into the sunlight. Blackwall stood up.

     She tarried about aimlessly for a moment. It seemed she didn't know what to do with herself. But she glanced his way, caught him staring. He looked away, but then he cursed himself. Herald or not, she was still just a woman wasn't she? No harm in talking to her. He started to walk over to her, and she didn't see it, starting to walk away. He grabbed her hand.

     "My lady." he adressed properly, and she turned to look up at him. Her big, beautiful pale eyes staring up at him, sparkling in the light. "I was hoping to speak to you." he said.

     "Of course, Warden." she smiled a little at the corner of her mouth. Then he felt her squeeze his hand a little. He didn't realize he was still holding hers. It was so small in his. He almost wondered how she could hold a dagger.

     She wasn't wearing gloves, and neither was he, and her fingers were cold. He squeezed her hand as well. Such a simple thing. To hold a woman's hand and know...in that moment...it felt right. He didn't need to hold her in his arms, feel her body against his...just the simple touch, that she didn't shy away from. Though she brushed a dark lock of hair from her face in a shy manner. And bit her lip.

     "You wanted to speak to me about..." she began, and he'd bloody well forgotten.

     "I was wondering...if we ever got the time to get away...if..." he trailed off, feeling her lace her fingers in his. He cleared his throat.

     "Yes." she said.

     "Yes? But I haven't asked anything, my lady." he gaped, confused for a moment. He felt his brow wrinkle. She smiled.

     "Whatever you're going to ask, Warden, the answer is 'yes'." she swallowed, staring up at him, apprehensive. "On one condition."

     "Anything, my lady." he hung onto her every word.

     She chuckled. "Don't call me 'lady'. That's the condition." she beamed up at him, and he couldn't help but crack a smile.

     The moment was short lived. She pulled her hand away, and cleared her throat nervously. Soldiers were trudging about, and villagers venturing outside Haven's walls, for whatever reason. Blackwall glanced around and could see all manner of people, even the smith and his workers were growing nosey of them. It was inappropriate of them to be seen like this. There were far more important things to attend to.

     Blackwall had completely forgotten then what he was going to ask, and someone called for the Herald's attention, and it seemed their conversation would have to wait until some other time. But even as she walked away, he could still feel the warmth from where her hand had been in his.

     Such a trivial thing. But at the moment, it was his entire world. It was all that mattered. That perhaps it was the only thing that ever would, as far as he was concerned.

     He would cherish that.


	2. Warm Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: cuddling naked
> 
> During the night of Ophelia and Blackwall's first time together at Skyhold.

 

     "Do you want me to do it again?" Blackwall asked. He heard Ophelia groan. It was muffled. Her face was buried in his chest, hair falling haphazardly around, tickling him a bit.

     "No." she mumbled. At least he was pretty sure that's what she said. "I can't...take it." she let out a sigh.

     She was naked, her supple curves hugging against him. They had been at it for hours...well, he had. She gave up halfway through. Practically begged him to stop, trembling from it. And now she was content to lay helplessly in his arms, her warm body snuggled up against him. He chuckled at his thoughts.

     "Why are you laughing?" he heard her mumble. He snorted.

     "I've heard of women begging men to bed them...first time I've ever heard a woman beg me not to." he hugged her tighter as he spoke, and her head came to rest under his chin. She fondled the hairs on his chest, like petting a stray cat.

     "I've fought demons, Warden. Rebel mages, and a parade of Venatori...but they didn't exhaust me like you do." she looked up and in the dim light he could see her chagrin. Then she bit his chest. It made him jump a little.

     "You can hardly blame me." he cooed, laying her head back down on his chest, hugging her tighter. "I wouldn't exhaust you, my lady, if you weren't so damn beautiful."

     "I wouldn't let you if you weren't so handsome." she remarked.

     She felt so good against him. He could feel himself growing hard again at the feeling of her naked body latched to his. Her soft skin, slightly dampened from sweat. Her scent filling the air. The feral arousal of it, mixed with the soft sound of her voice, like music to his ears.

     They had come far from fighting bandits in Hinter. They were now at Skyhold. And he was in the arms of none other than the Inquisitor herself, that she was now. But none of that mattered. He had what he wanted. The embrace of the woman he loved. He could worry about the rest in the morning. For now, it was enough to hold her like this. But would it always be like this? Or would one day everything change?

     "I never thought it would feel this good." he mumbled aloud. She looked up at him.

     "Am I better than you thought I'd be...for one who's never been with a man?" she raised a brow.

     "I wasn't talking about that, love." he said. "I was talking about this. This here. You, me...just us...in the dark."

     She rested her hands and chin on his chest and looked him over. Even in the dim light her eyes sparkled. He wondered what was on her mind. What she thought of that. That though he was aroused by her, sex was the last thing on his mind that second.

     "I didn't either." she admitted. "I don't want it to end."

     "Neither do I, love. Neither do I." he agreed.

     Oh but it would end. At some point it had to. The world had to move on, keeping turning, around and around. And so must they. He just hoped she wouldn't hate him when the world came back around full circle...and everything she thought once was...was all a lie.

     A bloody boldfaced lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may do alot of this from Blackwall's perspective. I was hesitant with Cloak to do so but I've grown into it. Lol I hope I don't ruin him XD


	3. Just Out of Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Messiness and marks of arousal
> 
> The Spymaster makes note of the budding attraction between the Inquisitor and Warden Blackwall.

 

  
     Sister Leliana was always discreet. In fact, discretion was part of her job description. Which was why she turned a blind eye toward the obvious attraction between the Herald of Andraste and the Warden surnamed Blackwall.

     When she sent Ophelia Trevelyan to the Hinterlands to inquire of said Warden, she did not expect her to return not only with the lack of information he possessed, but the Warden himself in tow, pledging himself to the Inquisition's cause. He seemed to mean well enough, but nevertheless Leliana decided to keep tabs on him. Just in case there was any alterior motive at play.

     There was, but it was never the motive the Nightingale would have guessed. It seemed with further inspection that the Warden hadn't pledged himself to the Inquisition so much as he pledged himself to Lady Trevelyan. Whatever happened in the Hinterlands to warrant the man's loyalty to her, Leliana would never know. Ophelia never said. But it didn't matter.

     What did matter was that he followed her anywhere. Whatever she accomplished, he was right there, at her beck in call. She was too naive to see it, but Leliana did. When the Inquisition sought the favor of the the Seekers, and met them in Therinfall Redoubt, he was there of course. Even protected her in battle. It seemed he was her most loyal follower. And when rebel mages, aided by Venatori, and guided by the Elder One, sacked Haven, Blackwall followed her out the door to aid her in distracting the dragon for their escape. He would not take orders from anyone else.

     Perhaps this was the reason so many looked to the Herald for leadership, for guidance, and for hope. If one man, a lone Grey Warden, could see a measure of value in the blasphemous woman that possessed the mark of power, surely more would follow suit. And sure enough, they did. All the way to Skyhold, the Inquisition's beacon in the dark. And many followed as she took up the mantle of Inquisitor, and looked to her as their heroine.

     Then everything changed. No one else seemed to notice, but of course Leliana did. She was always watching. One eye on Skyhold, the other on the Inquisitor, and the Warden. She was always watching. Always waiting, somewhere in the shadows, just out of sight. Sometimes with an arrow aimed at the Warden's head, in case his game all along had been to get close enough to her to let her guard down and kill her.

     The night they arrived at their new home in the sky, Leliana watched from afar as another hooded figure went inside the barn. She crept closer, bow in hand, arrow knocked, to inspect. Of course it was Ophelia. The only other member of the Inquisition as lightfooted, and akin to the shadows, as Leliana herself. She who wore the cloak, dagger in hand.

     As Leliana watched the Inquisitor...the Inquisitor watched the Warden from the doorway. Earlier in the day she had spotted them having idle conversation on the battlements, though she wasn't near enough to hear what it was about. And now they stood in the barn. Their conversation grew heated, and then they disappeared from view for a moment. Leliana grew concerned, wondering if she should come out from cover and interrupt...

     Until the Inquisitor walked out of the barn, looking around, before donning her hood once more. But Leliana could see it, even in the dark...the strands of hair out of place from the usual way they parted...the way her cheeks were the color of roses in full bloom...her full lips even more so. Her chest rose and fell in rapid breathing and a bead of sweat dripped down her temple. No bruises, no blood. No, this looked like a brief moment of passion shared between the Inquisitor and the Warden. Judging by how long in lasted, it couldn't have gone very far, but she could easily recognize the level of arousal written on Ophelia's face.

     She struggled haphazardly to put her hood properly in place, and briskly walked across the yard, not making a sound. Leliana watched as she entered the castle from the servants' entrance nearby, stepping carefully over a guard slouched, sleeping. The Nightingale turned her gaze back to the Warden who watched Ophelia leave, leaning against the barn door, arms folded. He was flustered as well.

     He turned away when Ophelia was out of sight, and paced once more, running a hand through his unkempt hair, then placing a hand over his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose, as if his head ached. He was obviously disturbed. And sweat. So he removed his tunic and tossed it to the side before sitting down on a bench, propping his knees on his elbows. Whatever it was that bothered him, other than obvious sexual tension, Leliana could not guess, but it made her curious.

     Her suspicions had been correct. There were certainly some feelings between him and Inquisitor Trevelyan. And suddenly Leliana took it upon herself to learn everything she could about Gordon Blackwall. So careless had she been before, to learn little more than his location, but they had little time, and many unanswered questions about the disappearance of the Grey Wardens. But she had heard rumors about his exploits, and perhaps that was a good place to start.

     It seemed imperative now. Considering exactly who he was attempting to consort with. It was no tavern maid, no servant of the keep, or bard. Maker's breath, it went far beyond Ophelia being a noble woman from the Free Marches. She was the bloody Inquisitor. And as far as Leliana knew, a faithful woman of the Chantry.

     It was the intelligent thing to, of course. To gain insight on the Grey Warden's intentions.

     Leliana took the arrow from her bow and placed it back in her quiver.


	4. Strange Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: cuddling somewhere
> 
> On their last night at Skyhold, Thom and Ophelia share a moment if peace together, and muse upon the future.

 

     "So...have you thought of a name?" Thom asked, as he lay sprawled out on the bed, boots kicked to the floor, propped on a pillow.

     "Why exactly is that up to _me_?" Ophelia countered with a smile, as she removed her own shoes to crawl in bed next to the bear that occupied it.

     "Well I'm not the one carrying him, now am I?" he chuckled.

     "Oh you're hopeless." she playfully slapped his arm as she lay down next to him, not resisting in the slightest as he reached up to pull her close. "And you're _still_ convinced it's a boy."

     "That I am, love." he nodded. "Has to be. Would take a strong boy to put up with being inside the likes of you." he grinned.

     "Oh you don't think girls can be strong?" she raised a brow. "And what of me then?"

     "Well if it's a girl, then she'd have to be strong as well. Daughter of the hero of Thedas...that's one helluva legacy to live up to, dear." he rested his head against hers. "But it's a _boy_." he pressed.

     "How do you _know_?" she asked. She had asked him once before, and was intrigued by his answer this time around.

     "You're...going to think it's strange, love." he said.

     "I've _seen_ strange, Thom. So? How?"

     He sighed. "I...saw it in a dream...He had your color of hair and your smile but..."

     "But _your_ eyes?" she looked up at him. He looked down at her and nodded.

     "How'd you know I was going to say that?" he asked, overly curious.

     "Because I _believe_ in strange things as well, my love. I know it's a boy too. Strange dreams, you know." she brushed his tunic with her hand, flattening the wrinkles, feeling muscle underneath. Thom Rainier was not young anymore, but he wasn't old. Not by far. She knew he had fight in him. She had seen it. She'd seen this man take on a dragon singlehandedly, and fight next to her in battle. They could take on the world together if they wanted. Almost had.

     But they were done fighting. And now, the daunting task at hand, to raise a child. And Ophelia had a slight feeling _that_ terrified her husband more than facing a hole in the sky full of demons, or any army of unholy things.

     She had faith in him...in _them_. Their son would learn from their mistakes, their history, and he would live up to the legacy. Whoever he was meant to be, he would change the world somehow, she imagined. He would find his place...maybe find a love of his own, like them. And love with a passion, a fire in his soul, and with every fiber of his being.

     "Gordon." she said. "I was thinking Gordon. If it really is a boy."

     "I think Blackwall would admire that." Thom replied. "And if it's a girl, after all?"

     "Cassandra." she said to him.

     "I couldn't have chosen better, love." he said quietly, pulling her tighter into his embrace.

     They held eachother close for that time, enjoying the silence, enjoying the peace and tranquility. However long it lasted, they weren't sure, but all that mattered was that they were together. A family, there, in that room, for one last night. As Ophelia shared one last embrace with her husband as Inquisitor of Thedas.

     He was warm and soft and felt like home. She could feel his heart beat as she lay her head on his chest. It rose and fell steadily, evenly, as tranquil as that moment. It felt so heavenly, before Ophelia knew otherwise, she fell asleep there in his arms. And easily so. As if she were meant to be there.

     And she was. Each knew that with all their heart.


	5. The Longer Kiss Goodnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: First time  
> Ophelia and Blackwall's first night together at Skyhold, told from Blackwall's perspective, as in Inquisitor's Tale, "The Long Kiss Goodnight" was told from Ophelia's, so here's a fresh take on it, hopefully. (it's also far more detailed than it was in Inquisitor's Tale) NSFW

     Blackwall had only shared a few moments of intimacy with Ophelia, since they had arrived at Skyhold. He had tried to resist many times, but he had given in. To hell with her being Inquisitor, and the acclaimed Herald of Andraste before that. Though he couldn't help but feel ashamed of himself, in a way, for she had no idea who he really was. Who he had been. The things he had seen...and done. But when he held her in his arms, and she told him the secrets she kept, he didn't feel so alone in that. It made it seem as if perhaps he didn't have to weight himself down with his past, and he could put it out of his mind.

     He had paced and paced, before finally deciding to enter the keep, and quietly enter her quarters. She had been pacing as well, dressed only in a simple tunic. In the dim light he could still make out her slender form underneath. When she turned to face him as he leaned on the bannister, the breeze from the open door to the balcony caught her shoulder length hair. Her cheeks looked flushed in the moonlight, breasts rose and fell with breathing under the thin fabric of the shirt. He started to grow hard at the thought of having her underneath of him, and yet, he wasn't sure he had the heart to tarnish something so beautiful.

     "I...am not worthy of you, am I?" he asked her, and watched as she slowly stepped toward him, like a cat in the shadows. She drew near and he could make out more the curve of her body.

     "Why do you even ask that?" she countered, looking up at him, her eyes like diamonds. Why did he ask? Because he wasn't. She was young, vibrant, and beautiful. Untouched, unscathed, it seemed. Even though she was as ruthless as any warrior in battle, she seemed so innocent to him now. Innocent, and vulnerable. And he, the feral dog that aimed to ruin her.

     "You are unlike anything I could've imagined you to be." he said to her, slowly looking her over, noticing the way her lips parted. She stepped a little closer.

     "And what did you imagine me to be?" she asked, biting her lip, making him falter, in his thoughts, such a simple little thing, that drove him mad. 

     "I don't know. Something else, though." he answered. He wished she were something else, any thing else, as a matter of fact. He wished that the Herald of Andraste had been a man, an ugly man, so that he would want to no part of that. "You don't exactly fit the description of Inquisitor. Much less Herald." he joked. But she didn't laugh.

     "Describe me then." she almost whispered, her voice like music. Her words surprised him.

     "What?...No." he chuckled a little. "Not going there."

     "I could... _command_...you to do it." she said, a small smile appearing.

     "Beautiful...flawless...those are some of the words I'd use." he said without thought. "Certainly not an old, grey haired man in Chantry Cleric's robes, I'll tell you that." he smirked, ignoring the lump in his chest, the race in his heart. Why the bloody hell was he so nervous?

     She'd _asked_ him to come. She _knew_ what he wanted. She was close now, close enough for him to see her breath falter, nervous as well. By the Maker, she was beautiful. He couldn't resist slipping an arm around her waist to pull her close.

     "Is that better?" he asked.

     "Much better." she said softly.

     She pressed up against him then, and he could feel her heart pounding, seeing the collar of the tunic unlaced, and the slight curve of her breast that was exposed. That shirt...how that shirt annoyed him. It was in his way, but he could tell how embarrassed she was, so he concentrated on kissing away the tension. Feeling her tongue tentatively touch his, as if she'd never kissed him before. The room got hotter than it already felt.

     He nudged her back onto the bed, climbing on top of her. This was different, much different than other encounters he'd had with other women. This woman was no sultry tavern maid. Sultry? Yes. By the Maker, yes. But experienced? That would be no. She knew what she wanted from him, but didn't even know where to start. And he didn't want to ruin it now by simply being forceful. He didn't want to push away the woman he loved.

     He broke away from the intoxicating kiss.

     "When I first saw you, my lady, I knew that I wasn't going to let you leave without me by your side." he said to her. He would never. Not after this. Regardless of way lay behind them, or ahead of them. He would show her that.

     She kissed him, feverishly, clearly wanting the tension to end, but he would not let it until he was certain he made his point clear. He tangled a hand in her hair, wrapping his other arm around her tighter, feeling how warm she was, how she fit underneath him perfectly. He felt her run her hand up his bare chest, her touch ever so soft, making his skin tingle with every trace her fingers made. But it was when her hand moved downward, at that he had to suck in a breath from surprise. He hadn't expected this from her. She put a hand on him, grasping the length of him, making him throb. She was curious, and driving him mad, beginning to stroke him, when he was trying so desperately to be patient. He couldn't resist thrusting into her movement.

     He moved his arm to grasp her thigh, feeling even softer flesh there, with not a hint of imperfection, her skin even hotter to touch. He moved the blasted shirt up past her hips, and gave Ophelia a taste of her own medicine, massaging her with his thumb, feeling her gasp, then whimper in his mouth when he slipped his index finger inside. She even jumped a little, startled by the touch, but then she arched up into it. She started trembling and gripping him tighter, squeezing him as he probed. He groaned in pleasure at the touch, the sound of her voice. She was warm...and wet...and getting tighter, and he was getting harder, if that were even possible.

     He moved her hand away, leaving a trail of kisses down her neck, suckling at the skin, feeling the saltiness of her sweat. Every muscle in his body seemed to tighten, and he felt her breasts press against him more frequently, as her breath grew heavier. He propped himself up with one arm, to watch her shiver in anticipation, watch her yank his trousers down, watch the way she arched as he guided himself in, hearing her panting, then gasping as he moved. He wrapped her leg around him, feeling her muscles flex, and tighten as he thrust. 

     He wanted so badly to move faster, but...The way she clung to him, digging her nails into his flesh as she tightened, rearing her head back, so instead he shook, as he tortured himself, to slowly ease his way in, and out, slipping his arm down behind her, to pull her up into him, to thrust deeper. She whimpered in his ear, biting his neck. She felt like she would shake herself to pieces. He wanted to laugh at his mischievous thought of having turned her from an innocent maiden to desperate animal in those drawn out minutes, at how she reached down to place a hand on his ass to nudge him deeper.

     He heard her let out a cry of pleasure when she came, bursting all over him, dripping down onto the bed.

     "I've been waiting _weeks_ to hear those sounds." he groaned under his breath in her ear, and she shivered. She breathed in and out so raggedly, throwing her head back at his movement, more sensitive now. He imagined it felt so pleasurable it hurt. He slid his arms underneath of her so that she couldn't escape, moving faster, burying his face in her hair, as he spent his last bit of energy on his long overdue release.

     A mess of sweat he was, and so was she, as he flopped down on his back. She still breathed heavily, still shook, laying with one leg propped up, the shirt pushed up a bit, exposing more skin. Damned shirt, damned darkness. He wanted to see for himself just what kind of mess he made her into.

     "Light a candle, love." he said quietly, watching as she moved the hand from in front of her face to glance over at him. "Please. It's the only thing I'll ask." he pressed. "I want to see you. _Better_." He watched as she bit her lip again.

     She got up and lit a votive on the table by the bed. Illuminating the darkness with golden glow, the color pouring onto her skin.

     "Take it off." he said, nodding toward the shirt. She leaned her head to the side and smirked, in the usual way that made her eyes sparkle.

     "I thought you wouldn't ask anything else, Warden." she said coyly, no longer tense like she was before, thank the Maker.

     "I lied." he chuckled, biting his lip as she slowly pulled the shirt up over her head. It was how he envisioned. How he imagined a body that felt like that would look. Full, supple breasts, the curve that dipped from her bust to her hip, and the curve of that too. The milky skin...He was still hard, and though it had been good what he had of her, it wasn't enough. He wanted more. Much more. He wasn't too tired yet. Wasn't ready to give in yet.

     He got up from the bed and picked her up, feeling, finally, bare skin pressing against his own, feeling her wrap her arms around his neck, how she opened to his kiss. Oh he'd probably regret this in the morning, but for now, he could only bask in small victory.

     He wouldn't rest until she begged him to. Until he heard that sweet voice of hers say 'pretty please'. Then, and only then, he could be sure he'd had his fill, and she had hers. Only then would he kiss her goodnight, and leave her be.

     He planned to make it a very long kiss goodnight, indeed.  
   
 


	6. Let's Play a Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Gaming/watching a movie
> 
> What starts as a simple hand of Wicked Grace, turns into much more than Ophelia bargained for...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this prompt was actually on a sweet and unassuming list of prompts and I managed to make it dirty. Very dirty. Pretty much assume that when I can, I will make these chapters as dirty as hell, if I can, because, frankly, my stories always hinge on plot. No plot here. Only kink. enjoy.)  
> (Also, idk much about Wicked Grace actually being played, so it...sort of plays out like a hand of five card draw)

  
     "I believe I have you beat, my lady." Thom smarted, a grin spreading across his face under his beard. He still never shaved it, never wanted to show the handsome face underneath. Ophelia chuckled at the thought, passing it off as laughing at how ill he was at bluffing. They were playing a round of Wicked Grace, just the two of them, at the desk in Ophelia's quarters, as there was little else to do that day.

     "Tell me, what was it like?" he asked out of nowhere, it seemed. "When you were in Ostwick. Before the Inquisition."

     "You mean...what was it like for a lady such as myself to masquerade as a bounty hunter?" she countered with a smile. "No farce, I'm afraid. Though my name was false, I really was a bounty hunter."

     "Doesn't surprise me." Thom shrugged. "You seemed the type who liked to get caught up in danger, take some risks maybe, when we met." he chuckled.

     "Oh and how could you tell that about me?" she asked coyly, holding her cards higher, in front of her mouth, knowing that it did nothing to hide the way she blushed at the memory of when they met. The sweat on his brow, big sword in his hand, looked like a bear, or a wild dog, baring its fangs. Intimidating...and attractive. Dangerous, and perhaps he was right. That was what she liked about him. The danger of the unknown.

     "A girl like you scampering off, alone, to seek a Grey Warden, whose company could be responsible for the Conclave?...Admit it, you liked the danger." he said as he tossed another coin on the table. She grinned at his statement. Then watched as he lay down his cards, propped his elbows on the desk and just...stared at her.

     "What?" she asked him, seeing the familiar gleam in his eye.

     "You...are a lot more interesting than this game, love." he said.

     No matter how many times he complimented her, sometimes, it still caught her completely off-guard, turned her speechless, made her blush.

     "And you...are losing." she said to him with a smirk. "So...what was it like for you...before...you know..." she shrugged.

     "Before Blackwall?" he asked, and she nodded. She wasn't sure how touchy of a subject it was to speak of, but they held no more secrets between one another. Trusted one another. And could handle the truth, every ugly bit of it.

     "A haze." he said. "Too many things I probably had no business in getting caught up in, too many times I nearly got myself killed...too much..." he sighed, then drew a card from the deck. "But, I suppose it was the right path to take. It led me here."

     He tossed down a winning hand. Ophelia sighed and smiled as she laid down her own cards in defeat. He had beaten her at every single game played that day. 

     "Suppose I could say the same of my bounty hunting days, you know." she relented. 

     Thom stood up. "Yes, well, now here we are. And I won. I want my prize, darling."

     Ophelia shoved the silver pieces over to his side of the desk. He shook his head.

     "No...not what I was referring to." he said. She leaned her head in interest, then stood up to stand in front of him.

     "What did you have in mind?" she asked slowly, biting her lip, knowing where this conversation was leading.

     "Clothes...off." he said huskily.

     As requested, she began to undo the buttons of her shirt, wondering what he was thinking as he watched her. His gaze never left her as she peeled back the shirt, then unlaced the trousers she wore, nudging her boots off with her feet. The pants fell well enough, and all that was left was her undergarment, the thin white fabric doing little to hide what was underneath. Not that he hadn't seen it before, but it was still captivating how he looked her over as he stood there, arms folded, biting his lips for just a moment, the look in his eyes.

     "I meant everything." he said softly, eyes flitting back up to hers. 

     Slowly, she reached behind to undo the clasp between her shoulder blades, freeing her breasts from the constraining piece of clothing, watching as Thom's attention moved there, licking and then biting his lip once more. The top piece fell to the floor with everything else, and all that remained was the underwear, and Ophelia couldn't help but smirk a little as she slowly pulled them down her hips until they were loose enough to fall of their own accord to her feet.

     "Is that all you wanted? To see me naked?" she raised a brow.

     "Oh no. We're just getting started." he smirked. "To the bed." he said, nudging her with his gaze that direction, and she did as instructed. This was an interesting game they played. Usually _she_ was the one giving orders. Ophelia imagined he reveled in the fact that only he had the ability to order her about in such a way.

     She walked ever so slowly to the bed, imagining she was driving him a little mad by the way she prolonged every movement, making sure to sway her hips a little as she walked, knowing he was watching behind her. She felt a hand brush against her back as she neared the bed, then felt as he gently pushed her down, bending her over. She propped herself up by placing her hands on the sheets, as he used his boot to nudge her legs a little farther apart. It made her heart race. In that moment, she had no idea what he was planning. He was rarely this...this...what was the word for it?

     His hand moved down her spine, making her shiver. She heard him let out a small groan, perhaps enjoying this...whatever it was...the tension perhaps? His hand briefly grazed her ass, making her jump a little with the sensation, then he moved lower, down to her womanhood, wet against his fingers, feeling her arousal, caressing her, then slipping his fingers inside. Her knees wanted to give out, and she trembled from the touch, but she couldn't give in. She had to have more. Whatever hand was dealt, she wanted it. His fingers played a heavenly tune, making her swell around them, let out a whimper from the pleasure.

     "I love how I have this effect on you." she heard him murmur, his voice low, a pleasure to hear. But he stopped, drew his hand away, placing it on her back to hold her in place while he pried off his shirt, and undid his pants. Ophelia's heart raced again as she patiently waited, almost wanting to whimper and whine and beg him to hurry. But she resisted. This was _his_ win after all, not hers. He would have what _he_ wanted.

     He freed himself from his clothing, and pushed her further onto the bed, coming up behind her to grasp her hips.

     "The 'guard dog' wants his treat, love. You going to let him have it?" he asked, as he gripped his length and rubbed it against her, torturing her, knowing how much she wanted him inside her, but prolonging that moment, just as she had.

     "Yes." she managed to say, the tone of her voice giving away her desperation.

     "Oh, I love that word coming from your lips." he chuckled, then pushed himself inside.

     Ophelia couldn't help but gasp as he filled her completely, so quickly, grunting as he forced himself in, only to slowly withdraw. She felt his legs shudder as he restrained himself, for just a moment, letting out a ragged breath, before thrusting back into her, this time the movement more fluid, running his hand down her back, then resting his thumbs in the dip of her lower back, picking up pace. She panted now, trying desperately to keep louder cries from escaping her lips, alerting the entire keep of their activity. With every thrust, the way he pressed against her, she could feel her skin start to tingle. She heard him breathe a little heavier, groan a little, sounding like an animal, though, that came to no surprise. She knew this side of him. The side of him that wasn't above being a little petty, a little more...rough around the edges. Every once in a while it came out, showed its face to her, sometimes through anger, and sometimes...through sickeningly good sex.

     He yanked on her hair a little as he thrust deeper, pushed harder, and faster. She could feel herself tighten around him. He would go at this all evening, wouldn't he? Until she begged him to stop? He liked making her beg. Beg and plead with him, and sometimes even then it wasn't enough. He always left her a flushed, sweaty mess. Accepted no less from her, and was never satisfied otherwise.

     "Say that word again, love." she heard him groan. 

     "Yes." she gasped, as he pulled her head back a little further, gripped her a little tighter, shivering, shuddering in response to her voice.

     "Again." he said breathlessly. "Say it again."

     Her legs felt so weak as he pounded into her, arms as well. Her skin felt like it was on fire, every muscle tight, the whole of her feeling as if it would burst. Perhaps the same could be said for him, the way he strained.

     "...Yes..." she whimpered. At her words, she felt him still a little, shiver as he came, felt him throb inside of her, though still gripping her tightly, as he let out a broken sigh, continuing his motion in smaller doses, until he was finished. Upon which, he flipped her over, shoving her down on her back, revealing a red face, moistened brow, which he wiped with a wrist, exhausted, looking down at her.

     "Oh no." he shook his head at her expression. "I'm still hard, my lady. We're not done yet." he said with a devilish grin. "Begging will get you nowhere, this time." he chuckled.  
 


	7. Sleepless Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: masturbation
> 
> After first meeting Warden Blackwall, that night, Ophelia has trouble sleeping, as said Warden won't leave her thoughts...

     Ophelia tossed and turned in the tent, restless, feeling her eyes want to shoot right back open as soon as she closed them. Too much was on her mind when she tried to sleep. So instead she wriggled about under the sheets, then ripped them off her. It was too hot for them.

     And that night the two sharpened dirks resting under her pillow poked at her. She always slept with a weapon nearby, and it never bothered her before. Maybe it was the thin tarlatan fabric and lack of sufficient feathering that passed as a pillow for the Inquisition ranks. Not that she was complaining, but she had better bedding than this in her shack in the Free Marches.

     Maybe it was the weather there in southern Ferelden. Switched on and off so often, changing its mind like a flustered woman. Or the ground. Slowly turning to muck as the spring season approached, then hardening once more with the frost at night. Becoming a peculiar stretch of frozen mud, and under the flooring of the tent it felt unsettling, much like a bed of thorns, adding to her discomfort.

     But the weather, the ground, or bedding weren't her problem. She knew that. She knew the persisting thought that kept her awake, reoccurring in her mind more than any other. Earlier in the day she met an interesting man. Tall, intimidating, a warrior with no gentlemanly air about him...but soft eyes, and a rather rakish smile hiding under the hair on his face. He offered to join the Inquisition, offering his sword and shield to their cause.

     Warden Blackwall.

     The way he looked at her was unsettling, in a manner of speaking. The way it seemed that he saw right through her, to her soul, and could already guess all the secrets she kept. But...as much as it seemed that way, he also seemed so innocent and kind. Like a warm candle, providing light and comfort...that could burn a hold to the ground if left unattended.

     And Maker, he was attractive.

     She'd met many men in Ostwick that tempted her, of course, most of those handsome men were at the other end of her blade, as she captured them and turned them into the authorities for a heavy sum of sovereigns. But the ones that weren't bounties were just as fruitless of an endeavor. She could look in their eyes and see nothing but empty spirits and promises.

     Blackwall however...something about him made her flush, made her heart quicken its pace, gave her a warm, tingling feeling in areas of her body she never thought could actually...feel anything. She chose to never be with a man because of the memories hidden in her mind, that resurfaced at the thought of touching anyone, in any way, but...Something about Blackwall made her the slightest bit... _curious_.

     As if she had no control over her hands, they slipped down along her chest in thought of what he would feel like, his kiss, his touch, his...She sighed. Sighed at how little she knew of men, even after everything she had been through. Honestly, what did she expect to actually do with one? She knew what she wanted to do with herself, at least. Get rid of this pesky throbbing she felt between her legs in thought of Blackwall.

     Her scout coat was already removed, and cast to the side, nothing but thin white lace between her hand and the persisting throb of arousal. Should she do it? Should she attempt to ease her current discomfort, when there was a possibility of Inquisition soldiers that kept guard outside barging into her tent, uninvited?

     Or would Blackwall himself find her there, and barge in himself?

     She sighed again. She wanted to...no, _needed_ to. She needed to sleep, needed the rest, for it would be a long walk back to Haven in the morning, and though the area was clear for the moment of bandits, Templars, and rebel mages, Maker only knew what she would face. She needed to be at her best, and at the moment, she felt the worst.

     She grabbed herself, pressing her hand down, willing the pulse to cease, breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth, in hopes of relaxing her mind and body. It didn't work. So she flounced back against the awful pillow, then flopped over onto her stomach, hoping the pain of beating herself against the hard ground would distract her. It didn't, of course.

     She groaned a small, inaudible groan into the pillow.

     She gave in and slipped her hand underneath the fabric of her undergarment. She almost didn't want to probe, so sensitive to her own touch already, but...It did feel good, surprisingly good, to imagine it was Blackwall. Slowly she started caressing the throbbing area with care, feeling her legs begin to shake of their own accord, muscles tightening. She let out puff of air into the pillow, burying her face into it further, muffling the sounds she made, in a small way.

     Imagining his fingers inching their way across her skin...

     She moved a little faster, and it got a little hotter than it already was in the tent, with her face buried in the pillow, suffocating with every breath she let out. So she rolled over and continued her movement, straining to keep from making a sound, biting her free hand. She felt herself arch up at her own touch, moving just a bit faster...pressing harder, firmer, toying with fingers that already ached from the act. She could switch hands, she imagined...or stop entirely.

     No. She needed sleep. She needed release.

     She rubbed furiously as a small cusp of a sigh escaped her lips, toes curled, and legs shook. Her head rolled back... _almost there_ , she thought... _Just a little longer, a little further_... _to the left, perhaps_...

     "Lady Trevelyan, you awake?" a voice asked from outside the tent.

     Maker's breath...that was Blackwall's voice. He found the encampment, apparently...Did he...did he _hear_ her? Did he know what she had been up to?

     "Just a moment." she managed to say as she wrenched her hand away from herself, and fumbled with her clothing nearby, pulling up pants and throwing her tunic on as quickly as she could, before opening the flap of the tent and peering out.

     Blackwall stood there, outside the opening, hands behind his back, standing straight and tall, at attention. Looking for all the world like he hadn't caught her frivolous act. Hopefully. 

     "Was going to carry on to Haven, but I saw the banner. Figured it was you." he said evenly. "You sounded like someone was killing you." he laughed. "Can't sleep?"

     She shook her head. Groaning inwardly in her mind at the thought of what she sounded like, pleasuring herself.

     "Care for a drink then?" he asked her.

     "I believe that is exactly what I need, Warden." she said with a forced smile, trying to still her racing heart.

     This was going to be a long night, wasn't it?  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (insert the term for female 'cock-blocking' here)


End file.
